Tradition
by InfernaLux
Summary: It didn't mater how they spent their Christmas. As long as they spent it together.


**And look who's back! Please don't kill me. And here's me, changing my pen name so you won't recognize me. Anyway, it's me Lux. You know, that one dude that wrote that one story (COT: Rising) but hasn't updated it in ages?**

**Look, I have no excuse, really. I was just really lazy to write anything down. Oh, and there is the fact that I'm in my final year of high school. **

**On the bright side, at least I submitted something right? And that's all that matters?**

**Well, I hope you can forgive me. Here's a _very _long one-shot. Over 10 000 words, the longest I've ever written.**

**Without further interruption (from myself) here's a Christmasy one-shot.**

**Let the curtains rise and enjoy the show.**

* * *

Tradition

For as long as he could remember, he was always alone. With his estranged parents distancing themselves, he was left alone to provide for himself—or rather scavenge. It was an arduous task—especially someone who hadn't been exposed to how reality worked, right to the gears. Even when he was a young adult—age seventeen, to be exact—it proved to be difficult. Although he didn't like to admit it, he liked challenges. Maybe it was those crossword puzzles he would always do in his spare time. Maybe it was those riddles his boss occasionally gave him to solve—and whenever he had managed to solve it correctly, he always found a few extra coins in his pouch during payroll. But in reality, however, there wasn't much room for error—he _had_ to solve any problem necessary to survive.

He got through it—and it was all because of her. They had become closer as a result. It was _her_ that was constantly on his mind. That was because it had been _so_ long since they had seen each other last. It was also because she was his best friend since he could remember. His only friend up until that point. It didn't matter how long ago he last saw her. Be it a month, a year, a _decade_, he'd always remember the smiling face of Dawn.

Ash was looking out his window, his head placed on his right hand with a bored expression written on his face. Snow was lightly falling, an ironically sharp contrast compared to the rest of his life. Oh how he wished to be out there, enjoying the snow with the rest of the villagers. But he knew he couldn't. He had to go out back and chop as much firewood as he could before nighttime. Winter in the Kanto Region wasn't the best experience for Ash Ketchum.

He got to his feet and began his way to the backdoor. Along the way he took his blue winter jacket—courtesy of the one and only Dawn—off its hook and opened the door. He made his way to the shed where his hatchet and stacks of logs were kept. He took a bundle of logs, his hatchet, and walked to a stump where a mighty red cedar once stood. But due to time and Kanto's unforgiving weather, it was struck down—five years prior to Ash's move to the quaint little town of Pallet.

He set a log upright on the stump. He grasped the little axe, raised it over his head and, with a grunt, swung downward, slicing the log in half. He exhaled. He hadn't meant to exert as much strength as he just did. It was frustrating, really. He looked back to the open shed behind him and sighed. He had a long way to go.

He adjusted his hat so the rim faced backward. After chopping his initial bundle, he walked back to the shed, took out more bundles, and made his way back to the stump. He repeated the process: cut, level off, grab more logs. By the time he had finished chopping _all_ of the logs in his shed, his hands were blistered from the old shaft of the axe and numb from gripping it too hard. But he smiled. It was enough firewood.

The sun was touching the hills when he finally put down the hatchet, letting it lean on the stump. All that remained was putting the newly chopped firewood back into the shed and into a new pile. Whenever a fire would get weak, he'd get more wood from that pile. He set off to work once more, removing stray beads of sweat. It was good all the hard labour was over and done with; it was less strenuous than chopping.

As he was putting the last of the firewood onto the pile, he heard the doorbell ring. He arched an eyebrow. Who would be visiting him—especially when the sun was about to set? And more importantly, who would take their time to come visit Ash in the first place? At first he thought it was carollers, but that was a stretch. The kids already sung their songs a week before. He shrugged it off, walked back inside, and answered the door. He was getting ready to listen to off-tune, overly excited seven year-olds sing a chorus from _We Wish You A Merry Christmas_. Who he didn't expect was Dawn with what looked like a basket for picnics in her hands. Just looking at her, with her blue hair tied to a ponytail all under her signature white beanie, a red jacket hugging her snugly, her pink scar and the casual jeans—well, let's just say the fire he was going to start wasn't necessary to warm him up. And looking at that smile of hers—the one he'd never forget—made sure he wouldn't glance at her without looking like an idiot himself.

But despite that, and _knowing _that his face was red, he responded with a goofy, lop-sided grin of his own. They were best friends after all. She wouldn't care one way or another that her friend was acting this way. It seemed normal to her.

They had been best friends since they were children—and when they were still living with their respective parents. Ash and Dawn were both living in Sinnoh at the time, the former being born in Kanto before moving, while the latter was a native to the region. They had been no more than five when they had first met, and they seemed to be close even before being acquainted with one another. Unfortunately, due to—and still—unknown circumstances, Ash and his parents had moved to Johto when they were seven, crushing their delicate hearts.

"We'll meet again," a seven year-old Ash had promised. "I swear on it!"

Dawn had tears in her eyes; Ash was in his "I'm a big kid" phase and tried to keep the saline liquid from falling, but the tears were as stubborn as he was.

The little girl wiped some of the tears, and stopped sobbing long enough to say, "Pinky swear?" with hopeful eyes. She pulled out her pinky.

"Pinky swear." Ash smiled and he wrapped his own pinky with hers, making it official. And he _would _see her.

And they did. However, what they didn't expect were hearts that aching more than just separation from each other.

He could remember everything vividly. He was eight when his parents had had enough of him and kicked him out. He ended up living in the streets—fending for himself, scavenging for food, doing _anything_ to keep himself alive, at least for one more day—for an entire year before a middle-aged couple took him in. They introduced themselves as Mr and Mrs Kurosaki. He never actually had the chance to learn their first names; all he knew was from old love letters they had sent back and forth during their youth were their initials—_I _and _O_, respectively. But that didn't matter to him anyway. They weren't on a first name basis. He had called them Mom and Dad.

And for eight years, he lived with them in Goldenrod City. For the first time since moving away from his one true friend, he had smiled—a toothy grin might have become a habit for him, as well as being contagious. Except that a frown would overtake his smile when he saw either Kurosaki stumble from time to time. _It's just a fever_, they had said. But as he was living with them, he was suspicious. When living in the streets, the first lesson he had learned was that being naive was a surefire way to get you killed.

They had planned on moving to Kanto—more specifically to Pallet Town, preferring the calm and peaceful aura of the countryside than the ever-busy and chaotic feel of the urban life. They were all set: they sold their house in Goldenrod and had recently bought one in Pallet. On the day of the move, however, Ash's adoptive parents had collapsed and were then brought to the hospital for emergency care. The doctor, Brock, had told Ash the full story: it wasn't the Kurosakis' first visit. They had been visiting the hospital for years, getting regular check-ups. It started as once every few months. During the course of raising Ash, their visits became more frequent—becoming once a month, to once a week, then eventually to everyday.

Ash was stunned. Why hadn't he seen this sooner? But it wasn't a quick stab. The dagger sat comfortably in his heart as the doctor continued what Ash thought was the end of the story. Their history didn't just stem to their generation. It stemmed to their parents and grandparents. And the scary part was that it wasn't just one of his adoptive parents. It was both of them, and the doctor remembered Mrs Kurosaki when she was still listed as _Inoue_.

But that wasn't the worst of it. The dagger sank deeper, all eight inches of cold steel from tip to guard, when Brock had told him the last of his tale: that he didn't know what was wrong with them. Mr and Mrs Kurosaki had tried other doctors, and the results were indecisive—some had said that they were fainthearted, while others had said it was cancer. But there was one thing that they had agreed on: Mr and Mrs Kurosaki had a terminal illness.

And on that night, Death had graced their presences.

Ash couldn't speak. He just stood, frozen in place. His body didn't even remember how to cry.

"Why won't I cry?" he asked himself. His tone was what surprised him. It wasn't somber at all. No sobbing. It was almost like a laugh, kind of psychopathic. "Why can't I bring myself to cry? If my so-called parents died, I wouldn't give a damn."

The next day, Ash had made his decision: he'd go to Kanto. If nothing else, it would prove to be an escape. Back at the now abandoned house, he gathered his belongings and made his way to the harbour. January twenty first, aged 16, was when he had moved. It was also the day he had called himself a coward.

Ash had begun walking down the dirt path leading to Pallet Town. He never looked back once, for if he did, it would remind him of what he had just walked away from. But it still didn't keep him from remembering all he had been through—the fighting, the screaming, and his favourite, smiling—in Johto. And he couldn't have been more ashamed of himself.

He had trekked over the hill that overlooked the little town. He was at the front gate, and the first thing he saw was _her_. He knew—he just _knew—_that it was her. The blue hair, now grown to her shoulders, the same shade of sapphire in her eyes . . . oh, he could never forget them. The second thing he noticed was that he was blushing. He hadn't expected her to be _that_ beautiful.

She had been on her way back from grocery shopping, and being the gentlemen his parents—his _adoptive_ parents—had taught him to be, he walked up to the blue-haired "princess", as he had just decided would be an appropriate word to describe her.

"Here, let me help you with that," Ash had said calmly.

She turned around as a young man approximately her age approached her. She was taken aback. She faced him, her eyes leering, and said, "_Look_, I can take care—"

"—Dawn."

Her expression immediately softened. That voice—though deeper than the last time she heard—was still recognizable. And with one look into his brown eyes, she somehow knew. "A-Ash?"

Then he gave her his toothy grin—the one he had always shared with the Kurosakis. He bit back a sob, and he was sure that would act tough for both of them when a tear stubbornly streaked down his eye. "Yeah, it's me. I've kept my promise, Dawn. I'm here."

Dawn was at a loss of words. So Ash continued, still with that genuine smile of his, "How is everything, Dawn?"

She dropped her grocery bag and gave Ash a warm hug, letting the tears do as they pleased. She choked back a couple sobs, but then decided the embrace would tell him everything.

"How's life been treating ya?" he attempted to ask but knew there wasn't going to be a response. Dawn's knees buckled, letting herself be protected in Ash's embrace. He slowly knelt down, Dawn following suit, never releasing her hold on him. Ash couldn't contain them any longer. And he didn't care. Tears were freely flowing from his eyes.

Dawn, put her cheek to his shoulder. After a few more minutes, Dawn finally stopped sobbing long enough to say, "I've missed you, Ash. I'm fine. But—but what are you doing here?"

In a soft, uneven tone, he said, "To be honest, I had no idea you were living here. My"—he hesitated as the words were caught in his throat—"parents bought a house here in Pallet Town. They had just died—both of them. I've got the deed, so I decided to live here."

He told her everything that had happened. His real parents kicking him out. The Kurosakis taking him in as their son. The eight years of happiness, laughter, and hope. And finally, their deaths.

And that's when _she_ had told him everything. When she was ten, Dawn's parents were in a terrible car accident, taking both of their lives. Devastated, she was sent to live with her grandmother, who was living in Pallet Town. However, Death had decided to visit Dawn's family as well. Three years later, Dawn was seeing the casket being lowered. No child should ever see someone they loved being lowered to their grave. At age thirteen, it was a heavy burden to carry. But what made it more heart wrenching was that it wasn't the first time she had seen a coffin. It had made her parents' deaths all the more fresh, unlike the decaying flesh of her grandmother. Ash noticed her eyes didn't have the same fire they had once had.

She had been grocery shopping when this _stranger_ had come up to her. She admitted she was a bit annoyed when Ash had approached her—mostly because she didn't know it was him. She had guessed, even if it wasn't through genes, she had inherited her mother's independence.

When she had turned around to face the so-called stranger, her brain had a lapse of judgement. She felt she could trust this man. That voice did sound familiar to her, albeit deeper than she had remembered.

Then she saw his face—and she had a sense of familiarity run through her. That untamed black hair. Those stupid Z marks—_scars—_on his cheeks. That even _stupider_ smile she remembered him always having. And of course—how could she forget?—those brown eyes. It was him. It was really him—the same boy she had once played with. Oh, those games they would play; she had a particular favourite: playing house. She blushed. Not just because of the nostalgia trip. She never knew he was that handsome.

It didn't matter who was staring. All she was hoping for was right there, in her arms. Ash wasn't one to break his promises. She had learned that long ago. She was just glad. Glad that their friendship wasn't going to become undone just because they had missed a decade of seeing each other. They both had lost a lot. They both had suffered through a lot—things that they shouldn't even experience, especially at their age.

But they didn't care. Because right there and then, the warmth they both had been desperately wanting was in front of them.

"—Don't you think so, Ash?"

Her voice brought him back to the present. He shook his head. "Hmm? Sorry, Dawn. Sort of spaced out."

She sighed, lightly placing her hand on her forehead. "Typical." Then she smiled. "I was thinking that, since it's your first Christmas here in Pallet Town, maybe we could spend it together? You know, just like old times?"

Ash smiled, albeit sheepishly. "I, uh, was sorta thinkin' that as well."

He wasn't lying _per se_. His thoughts were all over the place as well, thinking about the past. But he can confirm that his past wasn't all he was thinking about. Ever since the Christmas season had sprung to life in their town, all he wanted to do was spend it with the girl he . . . liked. As a best friend, of course. He mentally kicked himself. Even in his own mind, all with its enigmatic properties, he couldn't bring up the fact that he loved her. More than a best friend. He had figured that out when they decided to catch up a couple weeks after Ash had settled into his new home. That was months ago. And of course he had denied it.

Dawn's eyes lit up. "Really?"

Ash nodded and beckoned her inside. "Come inside, Dawn. It's cold out here."

Dawn blushed and let out an embarrassed laugh. "Actually, I was thinking we could, um, go . . . on a picnic . . ."

It was Ash's turn to laugh. It wasn't intentional—it was just that only _Dawn_ would come up with having a picnic in the middle of December. And she blushed more because of it.

"Sorry, Dawn. Only you would do something like this, though I'm glad you haven't changed a bit. And if I may add: you're looking beautiful." He immediately cursed himself for saying that. Stupid, stupid, _stupid. _Why would he say something like that?

Dawn didn't seem to notice Ash's inner . . . _musings_. "And I guess I can say the same about you," she replied. " . . . And you're looking quite handsome yourself, Ash."

She was cursing herself as well. Sure she was hopelessly in love with him, but she didn't have to be that _forward_ when trying to express her feelings toward her best friend.

An awkward silence grew between them. Dawn suddenly had an interest in her pink snow boots as Ash decided that he _really_ liked the door frame. As the awkwardness rose between them, Ash thought to himself that, to make things _more_ awkward, a sprig of mistletoe would be above their heads. Fortunately and unfortunately, there was none.

He looked behind him, remembering why she came to his house in the first place. He needed to dissipate the awkwardness, and fast. He said, "I'll go get my coat. Here, take a seat, make yourself comfortable, and I'll be right back, okay?"

To avoid more potential awkwardness, Ash took off in the direction of the bedroom. Dawn sat down on his couch as she waited for Ash. She surveyed her surroundings. She had been in Ash's house plenty of times before. But with Christmas a few days away, she was surprised by the lack of decorations. No lights hung inside, or outside the house, for that matter. There were no stockings by the fireplace. Heck, there wasn't even a tree. But she couldn't complain. She could sympathize with Ash and the situation he was currently in. They both had to provide for themselves. They both had jobs, but that was only enough to get by. They both couldn't afford to spend on a single ornament, much less an entire Christmas tree.

She heard his bedroom door open, snapping herself from her thoughts. When Ash entered the living room, she could tell that he took a short shower. His hair was wet and he now wore a red shirt in place of the tattered green shirt he had worn previously. Dawn also noticed it was Ash's _good_ shirt—the shirt he wore only on special occasions. He was also wearing his good pair of jeans. It was simply dark coloured jeans—but it was what he wore on her birthday a couple months back. With his blue jacket draped over his shoulder, he said, "You ready to go?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure."

"Then let's go."

Dawn led him to "The Hill". It was their special place—a place where they could go to think, spend some time together when either of them weren't working, or when they just wanted some peace and quiet. A cherry blossom tree stood firm and tall. The light pink pedals were strewn across the grass, blanketed by the snow. Not a single pedal remained on the tree; they were temporarily replaced by the snow. But it was alright. Snow was a fitting replacement—at least until the pedals grow back.

They had come to The Hill almost every week since Ash's arrival. It wasn't just because of the serenity of the setting. And it wasn't just because of the beautiful scenery before them, either. No, the main reason they chose this as their quaint little corner where they could just be together was because it was reminiscent of the one they had always visited back in Sinnoh—back when they were kids.

They set the blanket down at the base of the tree, under the snow-coated branches. The pair looked over at the horizon. The sun would set in a couple hours at most. Dawn smiled at Ash. They'd have plenty of time.

As Dawn was setting the plates and getting the salad, she said, "Do you remember?"

Ash sat next to her, a confused look on his face. "Remember what?"

She shook her head. "Well, I guess it can't be helped."

"What do you mean by that?"

Dawn laughed lightly. "Oh, it's nothing, really. I do seem to recall, however, that your head is as dense as a rock."

With that, Ash pouted. "Aw, Dawn, you know that's not fair. It's Christmas; I don't want to spend it bickering with you like an old married couple."

And at that moment, Ash wished he hadn't said that. _An old _married_ couple?_ He could've gone with something else—_"Christmas is a time to be happy"_, or _anything_ for that matter. But no, he just _had_ to go with the cliché line. He was sure Dawn knew what he meant, but what he said to try to relay that message across just seemed to get tossed out the window. Or, in other words, they were both as red as the cherries Dawn had packed.

In response to the familiar feeling they had _just_ experienced back at his house—thanks to Ash—Dawn just laughed. But that was to mostly relieve the tension. "I guess you're right, Ash."

Hopefully to _another_ awkward moment, Ash said, "So, what were you saying? You know, about the memory I can't seem to remember? The one that you're apparently fixated on?"

Dawn laughed for real this time. "I think you're exaggerating a bit there, Ash. It's true I remember it clearly, but that doesn't mean it's constantly on my mind." Dawn jumped suddenly, Ash noticed. Then she continued: "I mean, not that I don't want to remember it constantly . . . it's—it's just that there's a lot more I have to worry about than old memories."

Ash smiled. Same old Dawn to worry about nothing. "Whatever you say, Dawn."

"And you say _I'm_ the weird one."

"_Well_," Ash started with a teasing tone, putting a finger to his chin playfully. "Last time I checked, it was _you_ who had suggested we have a _picnic_ during winter. You know, in the cold, freezing weather?"

Dawn smirked. "And the last time _I _checked, it was _you_ who had originally suggested the picnic thing in the first place."

Ash blinked. "What're you talkin' about?"

The blue-haired girl smiled. "If memory serves me correctly—and I'm absolutely positive it is—when we were five, you seemed to think, just because you were hungry, that stealing a checkered blanket, a couple of plates, an entire pan of my mom's casserole, and going to our hill was a good idea."

"Oh yeah . . ." Ash mused. "I remember that now." He scratched the back of his head. "So _that's _what you were referring to when you were talking about that certain memory. The one you were goin' on about earlier?"

"Okay, I take it back," Dawn said. "I guess some things do enter that thickheaded skull of yours. And I'm not talking about your one-track mind on food, either."

"Hmph!" Ash scoffed. His somewhat defiant nature showing as he crossed his arms. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm always hungry, and that's that."

"One-track mind," she repeated.

They sat there in a comfortable silence—for once today. The events of the past triggered flashbacks in their minds. And Ash had to smile. He actually did remember. And he didn't just say that to make his best friend happy. Besides, ever since he had heard of the deaths of Dawn's parents, he took it upon himself that Dawn would not frown—that not a single sad tear was to be shed on hers, or anyone's, account. He didn't want the fire in Dawn's eyes to ever go out because of those stupid tears. He really liked that fire, too. It was one of the many things about her that he liked.

"Oh, I just remembered," Ash said, "we did that picnic thing again a year after."

"I'm glad there are _some _things going on in that head of yours," Dawn joked, but her smile returned. "Yeah. It was sort of our tradition."

"Oh yeah!" Ash said. "Hmm, I guess it is."

"And I guess I wanted to relive those memories, even now." Dawn's eyes seemed to dim, and Ash didn't like it. "We promised we would do it every year onwards, too. But then the complications started. For years it seemed like we wouldn't be able to see each other again, to hold the traditions we had held so dear—ever if we were just kids."

"I can see what you mean," Ash mused. "There's nothing I want more than to go back to the things we did, the things we loved to do. But we couldn't—can't. And ever since I moved, I told myself we weren't ever going to do it. I was ready to accept the fact I wasn't going to see you again—and because of our pasts, it would have seemed that way, huh? Still, there was always that thing at the back of my mind scolding me about thinking that way."

Dawn focused her attention to Ash. His eyes kept to the horizon, never once glancing back at Dawn. He continued: "I believed there was that one glimmer of hope—that stupid and naïve hope. I thought that after all that I've been through, God would take pity on me, that one day we _would_ somehow find each other again. And through those hardships I had to face, I had been thinking of you. Every Christmas, every birthday, I would wish for the same thing."

Dawn blushed. She couldn't really explain it though. It seemed that Ash was implying that all he wanted was to be with her. Well, at least that's what she wanted to hear. And much to her happiness, that was exactly what she heard. It filled her heart with joy to have heard what she had just heard.

"You wanna know what I would always wished for?" Ash asked. Before Dawn could reply, he said, "My wish was to see you again. To be with you again, like when we were kids. Like how we are now."

More comfortable silence rose. It was just peaceful, to sit with your best friend and not have to worry about anything, even for just a bit. And Dawn relished her time with Ash. Luckily for her, the silence wasn't at all awkward. And that was when Ash's stomach growled. So much for a silent reminiscing.

"Oops," Ash laughed.

"Maybe we should finish unpacking," Dawn suggested. "It isn't a picnic unless we actually _eat_ something, right? The food's probably cold—and the winter weather isn't really helping us out, really. But you'd eat it anyways, right?"

"You're right about that, Dawn," Ash said. "I've tasted your cooking; it's incredible! And I can't wait to eat what's in the basket."

"Chances are, you'd eat the whole basket, too," Dawn teased.

"Hey!" Ash protested. "I'm not _that_ bad, am I?"

"No," Dawn answered. Ash sighed with relief. But he soon realized he had spoken too soon when she continued, "You're worse."

"Then why are we friends?" Ash asked in a joking manner.

"If you know the answer, please tell me," Dawn answered in the same tone.

The wind then picked up, causing both of them to shiver. Ash noticed Dawn shaking and, worried about his friend, inched closer and put an arm around her. "Does that answer your question, Dawn?"

Dawn nodded, giving in to the small, yet intimate gesture. "Yeah, it does."

Once again, they forgot about the food. Not that it mattered to them, anyway. They were tyring to keep warm the arm around her helped her only slightly. Most of the warm came from her facing burning up. And Ash didn't have to worry about himself getting cold, either; his face was just as hot.

The thought of food came to them when Ash's stomach grumbled again. Then Dawn's stomach harmonized with Ash's.

For a minute, they sat in silence, taking in the scenery for the first time since they got to The Hill. Below them was an extraordinary sight. Due to the sun, some of the snow melted in patches of grass. The light emitted from the setting sun reflected off of the dew. And with the colours of the sky—the unique pattern of blended reds, oranges, and yellows—the sight created a natural light show. Across their eyes the light and colours danced as they were being refracted—it was a truly beautiful sight to behold. It was the _Aurora Borealis_ of the earth.

"Come on, Ash," Dawn said finally, turning toward the raven-haired teen. "I've made my mom's casserole."

They laughed and rain all the way back to Ash's house. The sky was darkening as they made their way back to the town they were glad to call their home. Holding hands with that special someone—no one could've looked as happy as two. They didn't want anyone ruining their moment. They had deserved it, after all. Through their constant hardships and struggles, it wasn't difficult to ask for a simple-minded thing.

The snow crunched under their feet as they ran, an somewhat eerie melody, for some reason, they enjoyed. That sense of satisfaction pulsed through both of them—oh, what a grand feeling it was surging through them! It felt good, and it wasn't just the sound of crunching snow. No, it was the fact that everything felt like it was going _right_ for a change. Ash and Dawn suffered more than their fair share of pain, and because of that, they couldn't enjoy the childhoods they were robbed of. Their paths had laced together once more—just like the fingers of Dawn's hand in Ash's. And now that they were walking in the same path—the same direction, together—they had encountered many mountainous obstacles. But for once in their lives, they felt like all those obstacles had vanished. Instead of worrying about climbing mountain after mountain, choosing fork after fork in the road, they could just walk. And they were in no rush at all.

Ash felt the warmth of Dawn's hand. As they were running, Ash hoped that the perspiration he was producing was from the running, and not from his nervousness. He also hoped that the cold he was feeling was from the season's weather, not his own hands. Somehow, he knew he wasn't that lucky. But he was glad that Dawn didn't complain.

"Come on, slowpoke!" Ash laughed. He was pulling her along the snow-crusted path. Oh, how he loved to tease her. A wave of nostalgia crashed into his head. There was no better feeling in the word—although Ash would disagree that it was holding Dawn's hand. Ash was as persistent as he was dense—or as he was love-stricken. Whatever.

"Hey, no fair, _Ketchum_!" Dawn yelled back. But she couldn't contain her laughter. Dawn knew he was teasing her, and she was enjoying every single minute of it. Ash hadn't changed. Not one bit. He was still the same Ash he was months ago—and the same Ash she knew when she was five. And the same Ash she had fallen in love with.

"No need for the 'last name' card, _Berlitz,_" Ash scolded, but he too couldn't hold in his laughter.

The last of the sun's rays disappeared as the moon took its place as the lantern of the night. It was a crescent moon—what Dawn had once described as "a sideways smile". The stars twinkled, as if winking at the "couple"—like even the celestial bodies of the dark void of space knew something that Ash and Dawn didn't know. The nocturnal creatures were singing a soft tun as Ash and Dawn swayed to the melody—their own little and clumsy dance as they were running. Even the frosted wind seemed to let up to a cool zephyr. It seemed even nature knew it was a joyous occasion not to be disturbed.

Some of the adults watched from afar, as if watching their own children. And the men and women of the town felt that way, too. That was one of the advantages of living in a small town. Everyone was your family.

And they couldn't help but chuckle to themselves or put their hands over their mouths. It was so obvious. And yet, their naïveté seemed to have consumed them. Ah, young love at its very essence—even if the lovers haven't figured it out yet that was all that the men and women of Pallet Town seemed to be thinking about whenever they saw them together. To them it was natural. Corny as it sounded, the townspeople thought Ash and Dawn were meant to be. They've heard all their stories. Their families were gone—or in Ash's case, good as gone. They deserved that happiness. Together.

Dawn was getting tired, but she fell into step with Ash. She could hear from the panting from Ash. They were so quiet that Dawn had barely noticed in the first place. Though both pairs of eyes lit up as they approached Ash's house at the end of the block. Their hearts were beating fast. And it wasn't just from the running.

They stopped at the front door, drinking in the fact that they were right beside each other. It had been surreal. And even after months of catching up, it still felt surreal. But their sense of warmth in the companionship they shared overwhelmed that surreality.

They looked at the smiling moon. Then at each other. An understanding passed between them. Even if they were separated for ten years, they still had a strong bond. And as the months after Ash's move to Pallet Town went by, it only strengthened that bond. And because of that, no words were needed to be exchanged. They were thinking the same thing. They were reliving the days of their childhoods, before everything had collapsed. After they had had their picnic, they ran around. To where, they had not one clue. And they hadn't cared. It was an unspoken tradition.

"Are you kidding, Ash? _Ice cream—_in the middle of winter? Are you crazy?"

They made it back to Ash's house. Dawn looked at her surroundings once more. She had been here earlier, but she was still surprised by the lack of decorations. And there was this spot in the corner of the room, just to the right of the fireplace, where a tree would fit perfectly. However, she did notice something she hadn't the first time. It seemed to be some sort of circular metal object with three legs to support the small structure. The circular object was curved inward—a perfect fit for cylindrical items. Hmm, she pondered.

A sly grin mad its way to his lips. He shrugged. "Maybe. But I fail to see what's so wrong with dessert."

"Nothing's wrong with dessert, Ash," Dawn said after turning her attention back to her best friend. "Apple pie, cake—anything other than ice cream would be acceptable."

"And who says?" Ash countered. "I mean, we just had a picnic."

"I guess," dawn conceded. She paused, then said, "Wait a minute. Why would you have ice cream in the first place anyway?"

Ash chuckled softly. "Why not?"

"Only you would say something like that." Dawn shook her head and put her hands on her hips.

"Oh, lighten up, will ya, Dawn?" Ash asked. "It's Christmas! You gotta relax!"

That pinched a nerve. Her shoulders tensed, as her blood was boiling, she yelled, "I _am_ relaxed, Ketchum!"

"And what's more relaxing than a bowl of chocolate ice cream?"

Dawn's shoulders eased, her expression softening. Here eyes carried a glint of guilt. "I'm sorry for yelling at you, Ash. I shouldn't have. What's the point of screaming at my best friend?"

"No, I should be the one apologizing," Ash said, bowing. "I took the teasing too far."

As if by impulse they hugged. It was like they've been making up this way for years. It wasn't long until the crimson returned to their faces. They held hands—but it wasn't that big of a deal. But to them, it was the biggest of them all. They had held hands with each other. Who wouldn't see that hugging would come eventually?

They held each other in a tight embrace. No way was Ash letting go of Dawn, and vise versa. Although they were together—unfortunately, not _that_ kind of together—for almost a year, their meeting still felt fresh, as ripe as an apple. And if it were possible, they held on tighter. No way was Ash slipping through her fingers. And no way was Dawn disappearing from his sights.

Ash breathed in Dawn's scent. It smelled just like her, he thought. The hint of perfume—and it was just for him, though he just assumed it was for the holidays. And of course he was able to sniff that faint smell of cookies and pie—probably from the baking she had done. The three blended together perfectly somehow. Though he knew those three things wouldn't work well, it just _did_. It was Dawn. _His _Dawn—though he knew she wasn't.

They wanted to stay that way, forever in the arms of their lover. But they eventually parted. They weren't actually lovers after all.

"So, how 'bout that ice cream?" Ash brought up.

"Ice cream sounds great," Dawn agreed.

They headed for the small kitchen. It wasn't all that fancy: a stove, a fridge/freezer, cupboards, and a table with three chairs. As Dawn grabbed two bowls and two spoons, Ash opened the freezer component of the refrigerator located at the top of the unit and brought out a two-litre tub of chocolate ice cream. It was unofficially their favourite flavour.

As Dawn received her serving she pouted, completely unsatisfied with the service. "No fair, Ash," she complained. "Why do you get more scoops?"

"Because I"m hungry," Ash responded. "Besides, you could just get more."

The she looked at him with those beautiful sapphire eyes. With her lower lip slightly out and adding a hind of sadness and water into her eyes, she made the most convincing puppy dog face she had ever made. She was beaming on the inside.

Ash gasped. He knew right away what was going on. He closed his eyes. And just to be extra safe, he put his hands over his face. "No—I won't fall for it this time, Dawn!"

"Pretty please?" Dawn cooed.

Ash gritted his teeth. He knew she was acting. There was no way in this earth, hell, or heaven, Dawn would ever act this way. She was way too strong—and definitely too independent—to do something this vulnerable by nature. Why must life be so cruel?

_DON'T—GIVE—IN!_ Was Ash's mantra at that point.

When it came to losing loved ones, he could handle it, albeit with a few stray tears. When it came to defending Dawn from stupid _assholes_ who didn't know the meaning of _no_ and beating up said assholes and himself in the process—his will was unwavering, as strong as titanium. But his curiosity overcame him and sneaked a peak. That iron will crumbled when he saw her face.

With a defeated sigh, he said, "Here, Dawn." He switched bowls and the facade instantly faded moments after.

Dawn clapped her hands, gave Ash a small peck on his cheek, and happily started eating. Ash put his hand on the cheek unknowingly. With the way Dawn was acting right now, it was like the whole incident hadn't happened at all. Ash picked up his spoon and starting eating his own dessert. But not once did he pay attention to his ice cream.

Ash took Dawn's hands and led her outside to his shed. "I have a surprise for you," he said simply as he smiled.

"What surprise?" Dawn wondered. She wore a red cloth over her eyes so all she could see was the dark red fabric. Ever since Ash had told her about this "surprise" it was all she could think about. It was eating her. If he continued to tease her like that she'll . . . she'll what? Well, her first thought would've been to punch him on his arm playfully. But Dawn's first thought this time was to kiss him. She also wondered about that. No, of course she the answer. She just couldn't admit it—even to herself.

"Just stay here," Ash instructed. "Hold on for a second, okay?"

She heard the doors of the shed open and his footsteps gradually growing fainter with each step he took.

Dawn growled lowly. What ash failed to say was to bring a coat. It was absolutely _freezing_ out here. She hugged herself, hoping that she would at least retain some of the heat. She still shivered.

Suddenly, she felt a shove. She also felt two hands hold on to her shoulders and was guided inside. Once inside she smelled pine. She wasn't stunned by the smell. She knew Ash kept the firewood back here. But there was something odd. Firewood would _never_ smell like pine—even if the wood itself came from one. Her eyes grew wide when Ash took off the blindfold.

There, leaning in the corner of the shed was a small, five-foot ever-green. It wasn't as grand as the one they had in the town square where an enormous Christmas tree stood fifteen feet tall. But it was all Ash could afford with the extra money he had heard from doing a paper route and the reserve money he would save up when collecting his biweekly pay.

And next to the tree was a small boxt. She walked over to the box until she could see the contents. She bend down and her head hovered over the cardboard container. Dawn saw small light bulbs running along a black cord. She also saw spheres with strings attached at the top. Christmas lights? Ornaments? Even a wreath. And . . . a star? But what surprised Dawn the most was how familiar the decorations were.

Ash spoke up. "Look familiar to ya, right, Dawn?"

Dawn turned to face him. Her expression was wistful, and that puzzled Ash. A single tear cascaded down her cheek. "Why—why do you have a tree, Ash? You barely have enough as it is!"

"I—I thought you'd like your surprise," Ash said. "I thought it would be a fun way to end Christmas—to decorate a tree together."

"It is!" Dawn said. "But why did you _pay_ for the tree? Your job gives you just enough for you to make end's meet. So why would you waste it for a_ tree?"_

Ash kept a straight face. "You don't understand."

Dawn's voice was growing louder. "I completely understand, Ash. But what I don't understand is _why_."

Ash shook his head. "I did it . . . for _you_, Dawn."

That got her out of her mini tirade. Her voice shrunk; in fact, she was speechless. Why would he put himself through all of this? It's no like he could afford to spend recklessly. It just didn't add up. And why did he do this—especially for _her_ of all people? Sure they've known each other since they were kids but for Dawn, that hardly qualified as a reason for doing this. She asked, "Why, Ash?"

"Tradition," he answered simply.

There was that word again—_tradition_. Then it clicked. Dawn started, "You don't mean—"

"Yup," Ash answered. "You remember, don't ya? Both of us would try to decorate the tree together. We asked our parents not to help us. You had so much fun hanging different types of ornaments and other decorations back then that I thought doing it now would cause you to smile and stir some _happy_ memories for once. I know it has for me. You'd always complain about not being tall enough to put the star on top."

"In case you've forgotten—and it seems like you have—I was taller than you by a couple of inches at least," Dawn retorted.

Ash winked. The key word being _was_." He stepped in front of Dawn, looking down at her with a smug look on his face. "See?"

Dawn playfully shoved him. "Oh, shut up, Ash."

"Okay, okay," Ash said, putting his hands up in surrender. He looked at the tree. "Come one. Let's get the tree to the living room. The faster we get it in the house, the faster we could decorate it, right?"

Dawn panted. "Was the only reason for my coming to the shed with you was to help you lug this heavy tree to the living room?"

"Oh no." Ash winked, his tone rising in pitch. "I just thought it was a good idea to show you the tree there."

Dawn narrowed her eyes. "_Riiiiiiiiiiight_. Because _all _of your ideas are great."

"I'm glad you see it that way, Dawn."

She sighed. "That was sarcasm, Ash."

"I know. I'm not as stupid as people make me out to believe."

_Then why can't you see how I feel about you, Ash?_ Dawn was thinking. But she said, "Of course you're not stupid, Ash. _Dense_, but certainly not stupid.:

Ash scratched his head. "Thanks . . . I think."

"Okay, now that that's settled, let's get started!" Dawn proclaimed.

Ash dragged the tree. Dawn tried to help, but Ash said, "Don't worry, Dawn. I could do the rest. Could you get the stand in the corner?"

"Sure." Dawn made her way to the corner. She noticed the familiar-looking metal piece. Then it clicked for her. She confirmed it. It was the same object she saw from before. So, it was for a Christmas tree after all. After picking it up, she made her way back to Ash. "Here."

He smiled. "Thanks, Dawn. Now can you get the decorations? They're in the shed. The keys are on the kitchen table."

Dawn nodded. "Got it."

As she disappeared out the door, Ash contemplated on his situation. How could he tell her how he felt, how important she was to him? They were best friends, but that just didn't cut if for Ash anymore. January, when he met up with her again, he had felt different—a good different. His heart seemed to beat faster whenever she was around. His face would heat up. He would become tongue-tied. And just hearing her voice was enough for Ash to feel like his knees were about to buckle. It wasn't until weeks later that he found out. Well, his neighbours told him, but he would've figured it out eventually. Or hopefully.

And that was all he seemed to be thinking about. That and _bend with your knees, not with your back_. With a heavy grunt and his hands underneath the tree, he lifted the tree upright and secured it into the stand. Feeling accomplished, he stepped back to admire his work. It was a little lopsided; it was leaning a bit too much to the left. Sighing, he pushed the ever-green to the right a little. This time it was leaning too far to the right. Feeling a bit frustrated, he set off to fix it—with the same results. It was like fixing a picture—just a little bit heavier, and a _lot_ more frustrating.

Dawn reentered the house and was enjoying the show. It was entertaining to watch Ash humiliate himself—even if he didn't know she was watching. After giggling to herself for a minute, she decided to make her presence known. Shaking her head, she said, "Need a little help there, Ash?"

Upon the sudden outburst, Ash jumped. He turned around to see Dawn putting her hands over her mouth in an attempt to prevent any more laughter from escaping her lips. It didn't help.

There's no point in arguing, Ash told himself. "All laughing aside, where are the decorations?"

"Right here," Dawn said, pointing to the box full of ornaments at her feet. "C'mon, let's start."

Ash smiled. "Then let's go."

Dawn picked up the box and walked toward Ash. She set it down again and picked up the a dazzling silver sphere. "These look familiar. Ash, where did you get them from?"

"I knew you'd ask that, Dawn," Ash said. "The reason that they're familiar is because they are. These are the same Christmas decorations we used years ago—before I moved to Johto. After I was kicked out, I stole the decorations from _them_."

Dawn didn't need an explanation. She knew exactly who—or, according to Ash, _what—_he was referring to. He never cared for them. They rarely spoke of Ash's parents. And if they ever did, Ash would always refer to his parents as _them_ or _those bastards._ And as far as he was concerned, _those bastards_ weren't even close to being his real parents. Mr and Mrs Kurosaki were.

Ash had never viewed the Kurosakis as his adoptive parents. He never hesitated in calling Mrs Kurosaki his mom and Mr Kurosaki as his dad. They were always there for Ash, making sure he had the childhood he deserved. But it was rough. He was ridiculed in school. The only thing that would get him through all the name calling and bullying was thinking of his mom and dad.

"I'm sorry, Ash," Dawn apologized. "I didn't mean to bring them up. I was—"

"—Just curious," Ash finished. "It's just like you say: _No need to worry!_ It isn't that big a deal anymore. I want the past to stay in the past, alright? The only things I want from my past are my cherished memories—of the Kurosaki family and of you. Now, the tree's not going to decorate itself."

Dawn was astounded he was so strong. She knew his birth parents were a touchy subject. But he regarded it as if it were just a fly being a nuisance. She also knew it had greatly affected him. He was just keeping it bottled up inside. She didn't like that. But Ash would let it out when he was ready. And when that time came, she'll be there, holding him until they smile.

"Right!" Dawn exclaimed.

"Now _that's _the spirit!"

Ash was right—it was fun. And it wasn't just for nostalgia, either. They really did have fun. It may seem like just another chore to do during Christmas, but they enjoyed themselves. All those Christmases apart—_alone,_ they thought—took their toll on the two teens. And it was worth all the money Ash had spent, just to see that beautiful smile on Dawn's face.

The lights were off. The only sources of illumination were the Christmas tree and the dancing flames in the fireplace, which Ash was stoking. After an unforgettable day, it was nice to take a break.

Ash eyed their work. The brilliant greens and blues of the lights spiralled up and down the tree. Assorted ornaments hung from the trees branches—red, blue, silver, heart-shaped, you name it. But what made Ash really smile was the star. About half way up the tree was where the star was placed.

"C'mon, Ash," Dawn had protested. "The star is supposed to go on top!"

Ash had only smiled. "But I like it there. You'd always put it there because you weren't tall enough."

They were sitting by the fireplace, enjoying the warmth of the flames—and of each other. Dawn was fast asleep, using Ash's lap as a pillow. Her breathing was even, Ash observed. Good. It meant that she's not having a nightmare. Ash tucked a loose strand of soft, blue hair in her ear. Her figure was curled up, probably to warm herself a little more. And with that stupid strand of hair kept falling out of place . . . all of it seemed cute.

They could've stayed that way , but their peaceful moment was interrupted when Ash heard a knock on his door. He stood up, carried Awn, and placed her on the sofa so as no to disturb her in her sleep. Tiptoeing, Ash stealthily made his way to the door. When he opened the door, he saw none other than a brown-haired teenager, seventeen like himself. Standing on the porch of the Ketchum household was Gary Oak. He didn't know how, but for better or worse (Ash decided it was the latter) they had become friends. Maybe it was because their personalities were nearly identical. Or maybe because, underneath that crusty and sarcastic exterior, there was that sense of familiarity—and that sense of understanding. Aside from Dawn and Gary, there were a few others that Ash had the honour of calling them his friends. And Ash felt more comfortable with Dawn and Gary. It was through that comfort that Ash had told Gary of his past. He was the only other person besides Dawn to know of what happened to Ash prior to his move to Pallet Town.

"What do you want, Gary?" Ash asked.

"They're about to light up the Christmas tree at the town square. Get your girlfriend and let's go."

Ash's eyes lit up. "How could I forget? Dawn and I will see you there!"

Gary then smirked. "About time, too, Ashy-Boy."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

If possible, Gary's smirk grew. "Oh no. I wasn't referring to you remembering about the lighting of the Christmas tree."

Heat rose to Ash's face. Dense, he may have been, if it concerned himself and Dawn, but he instantly picked up on Gary's implication. "Shut it, Gary! We're not dating!"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," Gary joked. After a good laugh his expression turned serious. "Just remember this, Ash: say it before someone else grabs her, okay?"

"Uh, sure."

"Good," Gary said. He bolted down the porch stairs and headed down the path leading to town square.

Closing the door, Ash went to the couch. "Dawn," he said softly, gently shaking her. "Wake up. They're gonna light the Christmas tree at the square soon. I don't wanna miss it."

"Huh? Ash?" Dawn stirred in her sleep and rubbed her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Eleven-thirty," Ash answered. "They're gonna light up the tree at quarter to twelve. Wanna come with me? Gary's already there, I bet."

"Sure. What are we waiting for?"

The walk to the town square was rather uneventful. They walked in peaceful silence. Another gust of wind blew their way, causing Dawn to shiver. Ash noticed and, just like earlier at the hill, wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "Better?" he asked.

Dawn looked up. "Thanks, Ash."

"No problem." Ash smiled.

"I knew you guys were together!" a voice called out. Just their luck: Gary Oak.

"Shut up, Gary!" Ash and Dawn yelled in unison.

They were still about five minutes away from the tree by walking. How Gary could see them—at night no less—Ash had no idea.

"C'mon, you slowpokes!" Gary yelled over the distance. "The tree's gonna light up soon! Hurry it up!"

"Say, Dawn, you up for a bit more running?" Ash asked.

"Let's go!"

Ash took hold of Dawn's hand and they ran the rest of the way. Just like before, they were laughing, and just glad for the company. Why they were laughing, even they themselves didn't know. But if felt right.

"Well _finally_ you guys showed up," Gary chided. "It isn't a long walk from your house to the town square, Ash. What took you so long?"

"Went to the flower shop first," Ash answered. "I got Dawn a bellflower."

Gary then noticed the delicate flower in Dawn's hands. He raised an eyebrow. "Why'd you buy her a bellflower?"

"I, uh, wanted to give Dawn a Christmas gift," Ash stuttered.

Gary eyed Ash warily, not at all impressed by his answer. He leaned in, whispering to Ash, "_'Thinking of you'_, huh?" Ash blushed. _There_, now that was an answer he could accept. He then checked his watch. "They're gonna light it in _three, two, one._"

On cue, the lights wrapped around the enormous tree started to illuminate. From the bottom up, the tree was lit in a myriad of colours—red, blue, green, every other colour in the spectrum.

Every resident living in the town cheered. They had all witnessed it. No words were said to state how amazing it was. There was no need. They already knew.

Then music started to play. Puzzled, Ash asked Dawn, "What's with the music?"

"About that," Dawn explained. "They do this every year. I'm always left out of the dancing. Well, to be more accurate, I turned down every guy who had asked me. Pathetic, I know, but there was only one person I wanted to dance with. You."

"Me?" Ash stammered. "But—but I'm no good at dancing!"

"But will you dance with me?" Dawn asked. The fear of rejection rose within her. The hand that was holding the bellflower tightened.

Ash smiled., melting away the rejection softening her grasp on the flower. "Of course, Dawn."

Taking her hand, he gently guided her to an open spot. With a bow, he said, "May have this dance?"

Dawn followed with a curtsy. "I thought you'd never ask."

Ash placed the purple flower in Dawn's hair. Grabbing her hand into his, placing his hand on her hip, placing her hand on his back, they began their movements. They then swayed with the music. With each step, the song was drowned out, fading away. It was Ash and Dawn—and only them. Their movements were smooth, like they were dancing for years.

"You're not bad at dancing," Dawn commented, following Ash's step with hers. "Not at all. Where'd you learn to dance like this?"

"Don't tell Gary," Ash advised, using a whispering tone. "But Mr and Mrs Kurosaki enrolled me in dance lessons. They thought it was a good idea at the time. Of course, that meant that I thought it _wasn't_ a good idea. Boy, was I glad I was wrong."

No more words were spoken. There wasn't a need. Their movements spoke for them. Everyone could see that they were having the night of their lives.

The song ended. Ash and Dawn were disappointed, but the did get to hold hands. From the distance, they heard Gary yell, "Well, Ashy-Boy? What're you waiting for? You love her, don't ya? Go on and kiss her!"

"Is—is it true, Ash?" Dawn asked. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. When it came to personal issues, Gary wasn't the first person you'd ask for advice. Add that with his sarcastic remarks, it wouldn't actually be helpful if you did decide to ask him. But when it came down to it, he _was_ a reliable and trustworthy friend. Dawn was hoping he was the "reliable friend" right then.

Dawn was scared to ask, but she had to know. So she asked it. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I do, Dawn," Ash said sweetly, and with more confidence than he thought he had. "I've realized I loved you when I moved here. Do you love me?"

"I do," Dawn admitted. "But it was hard, you know? How can I show the boy I love that I actually _do_ love him?"

"You can show him by kissing him!" Gary shouted in the distance. Ash and Dawn chose to ignore him.

"Hints?" Ash suggested.

"Believe me when I say that I've done that," Dawn said. "But you still couldn't even _see _that they were there. Would you finally realize my feelings for you if I had _'I love Ash'_ plastered on my forehead?"

"Were they really that obvious?"

"To put it simply, _yes_," Dawn said. "It's kinda hard to miss, too. I mean, Gary just shouted that we liked each other."

"_Love_ each other," Ash corrected. "And was I really that idiotic? Did I really miss the hints you were giving me? You gotta at least give me _some_ credit, right?"

Dawn shrugged, but she smiled. A small laugh escaped her lips. "I give credit when it's due. When it came to the hinds, I'd say you need to learn to read braille."

They were still in their dancing position. Even after the music stopped, they kept swaying back and forth. Snow was lightly falling. With what they were given for this moment, they couldn't have asked for more.

After a few minutes of silence, Ash broke the silence. "So, uh, _should _we kiss?"

Dawn frowned. "But we're not under the mistletoe. It's supposed to be a tradition, right?"

"Does it matter?" Ash asked. "I mean, we had a picnic, had ice cream, and placed the star halfway up the tree. It seems that we didn't follow the traditional Christmas traditions."

Dawn had to smile. "I guess not."

"Well then, how about we make this dancing thing part of _our_ tradition?" Ash offered. "And, uh, a kiss at the end?"

Dawn seemed to like that idea. She took a step forward, getting as close to Ash as possible. She lightly planted her lips to his. And just like everything they did that day, it just seemed _right_. Years and years of emotion all seemed to flow and escalate from just that one kiss.

"It's about damn time!" Gary yelled. But nevertheless, he smiled, crossing his arms. He wished them the best of luck. He hoped that they didn't have to suffer anymore. He sighed. Maybe he shouldn't have thought that. It was possible he jinxed it.

He shook his head. No. They shouldn't be allowed to suffer anymore. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, he started his trek to his house, muttering to himself, _Good luck, you two_.

"It's kinda funny, you know?" Dawn started, as she started to rhythmically move yet again. "What our tradition is like."

Ash laughed. "But like I said, Dawn. It's _our_ tradition."

* * *

**You gotta love Gary, huh?**

**Well, I hope you enjoyed my story. Congrats on reading all this text. I don't think I'll be ever doing something this long again. But you never know. I can surprise myself, too.**

**And now, for those of you who were with me since the beginning. I'm guessing you're wondering where "COT: Rising" is. Well, let's just say it's getting a rewrite. And let's also say that I haven't started on that. Don't get too excited, I'm not sure when I'll update.**

**On a lighter note, it's good to be back. Hopefully I don't disappear off the face of the planet again. **

**Anyway, let me know what you think. I haven't really proofread this, so telling me in a review wouldn't hurt, would it? It's one of those things where it's gotten so long that you sorta proofread along the way. But hopefully you've enjoyed reading.**

**Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone!**

**Sincerely,**

**~Lux**


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